American Emerald

Chapter 1

Donegal Ireland

It was a soft day in the townland of Termon, Donegal, with a misty rain and fog covering the lowlands and beautiful green-covered mountains shining through the mist. Termon is a small and quaint village on the outskirts of Letterkenny in Donegal county, Ireland. Late in June, the weather was warm and pleasant but still chilly at night. Daniel Flynn, the son of Martin and Rose Flynn, was a fine, young, strapping man, 6’ 2’ tall with the muscular upper body of a rugby player. Daniel was a handsome man, with dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and the whitest teeth. Having just turned twenty years of age, he had lived all his life on the island of Ireland. He had visions and big dreams of a great and mighty future on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. Daniel was not going to waste his time with university in Ireland; he was planning on moving to America, to follow his dream and his destiny.

Like so many past Irish generations, Daniel had planned to save up enough money from helping out at his Dad’s six-bedroom hotel pub and on his uncle’s farm to buy himself a plane ticket to America, join the U.S. Army, learn a skill or trade, and then to simply take it from there. One advantage Daniel had in being accepted in America was that his mother Rose had been born in America. Although she had only lived in America as a child for a couple of years before returning to Ireland, this gave Daniel a distinct advantage, at least in his own head. He also had two aunts living in Philadelphia, Ann and Nora, whom he had met only once when he was about seven years of age, but Ann’s late American husband had left a real impression on the young Daniel. His mind had been focused from that moment on travelling to America.

Daniel walked along the narrow country road. Well, with respect to Termon, this was a main road, but in comparison to city roads or motorways, this was a country road.

‘Well, Danny, how’s she cutting?’ asked young Michael Flynn, who was out digging his father’s field.

‘Hello, Mickey, she’s cutting mighty fine. Are you going to the party tonight?’

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Danny. I will see you there. And you never know, young Naomi O’Brien might be there,’ said Michael in a flirtatious tone.

‘Well, she won’t be looking at you, Mick, especially if Joe is there in his new convertible BMW,’ said Daniel.

‘Ah, feck off, Danny. Someone’s going to have to sort that bastard out. He’s getting all the ladies around here. What chance have we got, boy?’

‘He is welcome to them, Mickey. I am off to the United States of America to find my lady and fortune,’ responded Daniel.

‘Well, you have no fucking chance if you can’t compete with Joe McGuirk here. Sure, isn’t there thousands of rich yanks like Joe McGuirk over there?’

Daniel smiled as he continued walking towards his house. ‘We will see, Mickey.’

‘Ah… Good luck, Danny boy. Will I pick you up later? I have me Ma’s car?’ shouted Mickey.

‘Thanks, Mickey, that would be great. Best make it about 8:30pm.’

Joe McGuirk was the local lad who had it all. He had a good education from Trinity Law School in Dublin but had done nothing with it. He worked in his Dad’s Law Firm in Letterkenny as a lawyer. However, he had plenty of money and had done well from the Celtic Tiger economic boom. That is, he was one of the lucky few. He had sold his seven houses before the economy went bang, making a tidy nest egg for himself. That being said, he enjoyed flaunting his wealth, having spent over fifty thousand euro on his new BMW convertible complete with leather interior.

Daniel entered his parent’s house, which was to the rear of the hotel pub. There was nothing else within a four-mile radius of the hotel, other than mountains, sheep, and a couple of farm houses. The bright yellow neon light of the hotel glittered the words ‘Flynn’s Hotel’ into the misty night sky. The sign had done wonders over the years to fuel Daniel’s imagination of the neon lights of American big cities such as New York or Los Angeles.

‘Hi, Ma,’ said Daniel to his mother, who was emptying the washing machine.

‘Ah, Daniel my boy, will you go into the bar and help your Father? That bloody drunk owl Billy is shouting abuse again.’

Dan walked into the bar, which was also the restaurant of the small hotel. At best, it would hold no more than twenty-five to thirty people, although on a busy night like tonight, a Saturday, over thirty people could pack themselves into the small bar.

Daniel’s Dad was trying to talk sense into the local man, Billy, who had been abusing some British tourists.

‘You’re only a hungry shower of bastards,’ bellowed Billy at the British couple, who appeared to be highly offended.

The other people in the bar remained seated, with the few regulars sitting at the bar staring into their pints of Guinness. They had become accustomed to the local man known as ‘auld Billy.’

‘I am very sorry about this,’ said Martin, Daniel’s father, to the British gentleman.

‘Oh, that’s quite all right,’ responded the British man.

‘That’s an English Bastard, Danny. Get him out,’ shouted Billy.

‘Come on, Billy, I’ll bring you into the kitchen for some of me Ma’s apple pie,’ replied Daniel.

Daniel and his father jostled Billy into the kitchen of their home, where he continued to shout abuse, but nobody was listening to him.

‘English rotten bastards. Get them out and, wait a minute… yes bastards, where is me pint of Guinness gone?’ asked Billy

‘Sit down here now, you big drunk lump,’ said Martin as he lifted Billy into the armchair located beside the television.

‘Daniel, will you go into the bar and look after that English man? Give him a drink on the house whilst I try and sober up owl Billy.’

‘English bastard,’ shouted Billy.

‘Sure. Da,’ replied Daniel. He walked back into the bar and up to the British man.

‘I am very sorry, sir. Now, can I get you a drink?’ asked Daniel.

‘That’s quite alright, I have had worse. May I have a glass of Guinness and a Bacardi and Coke for my wife?’ asked the British man.

‘Certainly. Are you over on holidays?’ asked Daniel.

‘Sort of. I am doing some research on my Irish roots,’ responded the Englishman.

Daniel poured a large Bacardi and a glass of Guinness for the Englishman.

‘That’s a bit unusual, an Englishman looking for his roots… in Ireland.’

‘My dear fellow, I served in the British forces, Royal Irish Regiment, which is made up of fine fellows of Irish descent.’

‘Shush now,’ responded Daniel

‘I know the war is over, but there are a few people in this area who would not be so welcoming to a British soldier.’

Daniel handed the drinks to the British man. ‘They are on the house.’

‘Thank you, very much, but there really is no need.’

‘No, please, have a drink on us. You’re most welcome here any time,’ responded Daniel.

‘That really is kind of you,’ said the Englishman as he put out his hand to shake Daniel’s.

Daniel shook his hand. ‘What is your relative’s name that you’re looking for?’

‘Oh, yes, my name is Terry O’Neill. That’s Major Terry O’Neill,’ he whispered. ‘My Mother was Teresa O’Neill from this very townland.’

Daniel thought for a moment then continued: ‘There is a Francis O’Neill who lives at the end of the lane on the right, about two miles out the road. I am sure she can help you.’

‘Thank you, sir, thank you. But you know my name. May I ask yours?’

‘It’s Daniel Flynn.’

‘Well, Daniel Flynn, thank you kindly for the drinks.’

The Englishman went and sat with his wife in front of a large open fireplace, which had been fitted with an artificial electric fire.

‘Would that be Sean O’Neill’s boy,’ asked one of the men drinking at the bar.

‘I don’t know, but he is a true British Gentlemen, that’s for sure,’ responded Daniel.

Daniel’s Dad Martin walked back into the bar. ‘Daniel, will you give us a hand to put Billy in the car? I’ll have to bring him home. He is completely locked drunk tonight.’

Daniel and Martin carried Billy out to the car park and tried to put him into the back of Martin’s car.

‘Stop, lads, stop! I have my own transport with me.’

‘Billy, you’re not driving in that drunk state. If Sgt. O’Brien catches you in that state, you will be barred from driving for life,’ said Martin.

‘Who said anything about driving? Sure, haven’t I got Albert with me?’

‘Ah, will you stop. Who is Albert, now? An imaginary friend who is going to drive you home?’ said Martin.

‘No, Albert is my horse. He is over by the wall. Albert! Albert!’ shouted Billy, and he let out a couple of whistles.

Out from behind a wall walked a small grey donkey.

‘That’s not a horse, it’s a donkey,’ said Martin.

‘Yes, a donkey to you, but a transportation vehicle to me, without an engine, which means I can drive him home without breaking the law. Now lift me up onto him.’

Martin and Daniel pushed and pushed at owl Billy until he was sitting on the Donkey.

‘Thanks, lads. Good luck to ya,’ shouted Billy as the donkey walked away.

Daniel and his Dad walked back towards the bar.

’You see what drinking does to you, son? Keep away from beer, ‘tis evil and will destroy your life.’

‘Don’t worry, Dad. I don’t mind selling it, but drink is not for me. By the way, could you give me a loan of €20 as I am heading over to the parish hall for the party tonight?’

‘Are you still saving your money for America, son?’

‘Yes, Dad. I change my money once a month into dollars, and I am just a little short.’

‘You’re a good lad. Here you are,’ said Martin as he handed over a fresh, crisp €20 note from his wallet.

‘Thanks, Da. Can you handle the bar on your own tonight?’

‘Of course I can, son. Go on now and have some fun.’

Dan turned to walk away when his Dad grabbed his right arm and said, ‘Dan, are you still leaving next Friday?’

There was a quiver in his father’s voice, something Dan had never heard before, as his dad normally hid his emotions.

‘Dad, you know I am. Sure, I have my flight booked.’

‘Son?’

Another word his Dad never called him. It was normally Dan or Daniel when he was in trouble. ‘Yes, Dad?’

‘You know, son, I am very proud of you, and Ireland’s loss is America’s gain. I am going to talk to your Mam tonight and give her the news.’

‘What, Dad, you mean you haven’t told her yet?’

‘I just couldn’t find the right moment, son. This is going to really upset her. Look, you go out tonight, and I will tell her.’

‘Dad, you have known for the past two months.’

‘I know, son, I know. Look, I promise you, I will tell her tonight.’

‘Da, do you want me to tell her?’

‘No, son, I will tell her. This is going to be really hard for her, but please, leave it to me?’

‘OK, Da.’